


Mountains' Graveyard is the Worst Place for a Date

by toejammy



Category: Naruto
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Flashbacks, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Rating May Change, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-16
Updated: 2017-11-24
Packaged: 2019-02-03 04:32:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12741084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/toejammy/pseuds/toejammy
Summary: Madara runs away. Hashirama has to follow.





	1. He Leaves

Living in the village was just too difficult, and he slipped away one night before anyone realized he was thinking about leaving. He didn't even bother packing anything besides essentials, travelling as lightly and as quickly as he could. To make it easier, he thought. But in reality he didn't want to spend time packing and have sentimentality hold him back. 

He traveled a few hours north before he ever stopped, and a few more hours later until he finally looked back. He didn't want to see anything left of the village or the familiar areas surrounding it. He wanted nothing to hold him back anymore, didn't want to see anything that reminded him of there. 

Or of him.

It was a little past midday before he took a break to eat some of the bread he had packed away for the trip. He sat down on a large high up branch, overlooking the overgrown forest he was making his way through. He kept off the roads, didn't want to come into contact with any other shinobi, at least not until he was far enough away. One katon from him and the forest would be up in flames and his entire plan up in smoke. 

He wondered if anyone had noticed he was gone yet. Memories of mornings seeing warm brunette and warmer smiles crossed his mind as he ate. It made him feel sick.

With a sigh he got up and started north again. He didn't have a clue where he was really headed, but he was hopeful he would know when he found it. If he traveled east he'd get close to the coast, west would have taken him into waterfall territory. Directly north though, he didn't remember any villages or settlements close to there. No clans with enough reach had gotten close, the forest much too dense. He figured that would be perfect.

The dense forest reminded him only of mokuton, and of eyes the color of rich bark. He tried not to think of the implications of his immediate plan sending him into the forest. The idea of being absolutely surrounded by trees was a bittersweet irony. Enough to almost make him laugh. 

Almost.

Night hit and he was still in fire territory. He stopped once it was too dark to see, not wanting to use his sharingan just to get around in the dark. If he had been ambushed he would have exhausted too much of his chakra before the fight ever started. He climbed up into a larger tree as far as he could go and settled in against the trunk. He never understood what that man meant when he discussed the heartbeat of the trees, how the forest was all connected, the trees and roots pulsing together like veins of a huge body. Maybe he just couldn't hear it himself. As he settled in he wondered if his old friend could hear his heartbeat through the tree. 

He hoped not.

Days he traveled, not finding a place he was comfortable enough to stop in. He wanted to make sure he was at least out of the fire territory, which took a week and a half on its own. Another week it took just to penetrate further into the northern forest, slow going through the dense branches. His hair was knotted and covered in leaves and sticks, which made his mood even worse. He stopped by streams and pools where he could to wash up, but he never felt clean enough. Nothing like the large river he was used to washing in. Used to throwing stones in. Used to meeting old friends by. The land started elevating as he got closer into the mountains. It was a horrible region, he decided. And he hated it. 

But it was also perfect. Nobody would dare make the trek into these dense forest mountains. Especially not with a large force. This was where he needed to be, far away from anyone that would know him. Far away from the whispers and glares he got just walking down the streets of a village he helped create. Far away from ungrateful and untrustworthy clan members. Far away from the graves of his brothers, murdered by the people who now wanted to consider him an ally. Far away from the sharp glare of the brother murderer and his ridiculous white rabbit collar. Far away from long chocolate hair that smelled like autumn leaves and a smile that charmed hundreds. Charmed away his own people. He grit his teeth.

The next day he found something even more strange about the landscape. Jutting out from the ground and over the canopy of the forest were bones. Huge bones. He slowed down to inspect them, the bottoms were packed into the dense forest ground and had all sorts of mushrooms growing out of them, small animals making homes in the hollowed out marrow. The tops of the bones that were above the trees were more brittle, bleached white by the sun and eroded from the winds soaring over the forest. The beasts that left these had been in the times of giants, from a time much before his own. He had never seen anything like them before.

He finally stumbled upon a skull, only the large horns barely sticking out from the foliage. The rest of the giant maw was sinking into the ground, the hollow brain cavity filled with little plants and animals, even a sapling taking root inside the ancient giant's cranium. This place was untouched, no signs of any people could be found around here. No villages, no roads, not even a trail had been made.

Madara decided this would be his new home.

The rib cage of the dead giant leaned against one of the mountains jutting out of the landscape. After a little exploring he found a crag in the mountain big enough to squeeze through, a hollow musty cave hidden inside. It only took a few hits to widen the opening, and a few days of work clearing out the insides of the cave before he felt it was good enough. Hunting in the area had been quick and easy, the fauna plentiful and not used to any humans in the region. Soon enough he had meats drying on a rack, ventilation for his fires broken into the mountainside, and a bed of leaves made comfortable enough to get a few hours of sleep in.

It wasn't luxury, and it wasn't Konoha, but something about that made it even more perfect for him. It was symbolic. He had created this place alone, he didn't need anyone else's help or advice. He was tired of making plans with a partner. Especially when he never quite measured up. He decided he needed to work hard for himself and himself alone. 

Selfishness was a trait he had acquired after Izuna's death. A habit he now found very hard to break. Selfishness was just more pragmatic, Madara thought. Selflessness lead to his brothers death, a death Hashirama quickly made sure was in vain. 

Madara shook his head. He didn't want to go down that road again. Enough hatred flowed within him, and it was what had spurred him to leave. And now he was gone. No use getting angry now when he was nowhere near that man.

That man... that horrible man. Madara stopped midway out of the entrance to his cave, his hands balled into fists. His knuckles turned white as he thought about Hashirama. He remembered the Konoha mornings where Hashirama would call out to him, quickly bounding through the streets to catch up with Madara, his face as bright as the early sun. Unbecoming behavior of a Hokage, Madara had thought. All his own people, his own clan, had chosen this buffoon with no decorum for the position over him. They had picked someone who didn't mind acting like a schoolgirl in public every time he saw Madara, no regard for his image. It made him angry.

It mostly made him angry because he loved it. 

And he hated that he loved it.

Madara went to check his traps, hoping to have caught some fresh breakfast. The isolation had been nice, but he found being left alone with only his thoughts was proving to be difficult. He just couldn't help his thoughts from travelling back to Hashirama. It made him angry, resentful, and pathetic. He took the fat rabbit he has ensnared inside, hoping that a warm meal would pacify himself. 

He took his cooked rabbit outside, lifting himself up onto one of the huge bones so he could catch a little breeze and eat. His legs dangled off the side, kicking slightly as he looked out over the horizon. Treetops as far as he could see. Slowly, he was getting used to this. He wondered if he was going to stay here forever. Die as a hermit in a forgotten land. He wondered again if anyone back home was missing him, if any search parties had been formed to track him down. He hadn't left a note, hadn't taken any important heirlooms from his house, left all his shoes by the door. Maybe Hashirama thought he had been kidnapped. He chuckled to himself as he flicked the rabbit bones to the forest floor. What a ridiculous thought, he decided. Nobody could have successfully kidnapped him, he was much too feisty. There would have been a fight, signs of a struggle, scorch marks on his walls. He figured Hashirama would assume this as well, but then again, Hashirama always had a penchant for the dramatic. 

Would he be sad that Madara was gone? Sad that he had slipped away? Would he be out searching himself? Putting himself in danger outside the village walls to search for his friend? Would he have insisted he go despite everyone advising otherwise, disregarding his notoriety as Hokage?

Would he have cried? Maybe just a little? 

Madara laid down flat on the bone, putting his arms over his head. The wind was blowing that day and the sounds of rustling leaves was all he could hear. It was peaceful, and he felt relaxed for the first time in a long time. He couldn't even remember the last time he was this calm. Since birth his life had been uncertainty and tension, fear of an early death at his enemy's hands. The village he and Hashirama had created was meant to ease that fear, but it brought him new ones. Fear of betrayal, fear of being cast out, fear of never being trusted. He didn't have to worry about that anymore. He had left before anyone could send him away. His anxiety made him withdraw from the comfort of his village, the comfort of his home, the comfort of seeing Hashirama every day.

You're your own worst enemy, he thought to himself, and you need to stop thinking about him. 

A week later he realized that was going to be hard. He had nothing but his thoughts, and he found himself thinking about Hashirama a lot. Their childhood memories came back to him. Memories of throwing stones and grandiose plans. Memories of nights laying in his father's home wishing it was morning so he could return to the riverbank and see Hashirama again.

He remembered he was about ten years old when he realized he felt something different with Hashirama. He was fourteen when he realized it had to be love. He was seventeen when he realized that feeling probably wasn't going to go away anytime soon. He was twenty two before he ever saw him again. 

He remembered that day clearer than any, mostly due to the fact that he had recorded it all with his sharingan. He saw Hashirama for the first time in a decade on the battlefield, bloodstained, with roots spinning out around him, his hands waving signs wildly. He was taller, his hair had grown long, his face hollowed out in maturity. He looked confident, commanding, and brutal. He was completely different than the last time Madara had seen him, and Madara had recognized him immediately. His heart had almost stopped and his jaw slacked. Then his heart picked up at a rate that almost made him pass out, his running faltered as he struggled to catch himself and get back in control of his own body.

Hashirama's gaze moved from Uchiha to Uchiha on the battlefield, finally landing on Madara and stopping. His eyes widened, his signs stopped. Everything around him seemed to halt, even time itself. That moment hung between them for what seemed like an eternity before either of them moved. Madara first broke their gaze, having to dodge away from a kunai that came whirling for his head. It had gotten close enough to scrape his cheek. The cut bled down his face and he took that as a sign to leave. Madara tried to get as far away from Hashirama as he could, not wanting to deal with the idea of killing his old friend, or having to be murdered by him. 

The battle had ended with a pyrrhic Senju victory, the remaining Uchiha having to group home to lick their wounds. Madara didn't see Hashirama for the rest of the battle. He hoped that he was alright, as traitorous as that felt.

A few days later, Madara went to skip stones in the river. He sat on the edge of the bank and hurled stones onto the other side of the shore. He made it far past the rocky riverside with his shots now. Further than he ever made as a child. Progress, he had thought. It almost made him smile. Made him nostalgic. 

When he heard footsteps quietly approaching his heart sank into his stomach. His skin prickled. His sharingan activated involuntarily. But he didn't move. The footsteps stopped at the edge of the treeline and Madara's hand stopped mid throw. Silence hung in the air, the river itself even quieted. There was no wind, no rustling of leaves, no movement in the brush. Just electricity in the air. Madara felt that time had stopped yet again.

Hashirama had been the one to speak first.

"I thought it was you." It was barely louder than a whisper, but Madara heard him clear as day. "The other day. Thank god you're alright."

Madara threw his rock. It didn't quite make it to the other side of the river.

Hashirama chuckled as he made a few more tentative steps in Madara's direction. Madara found his hands shaking the closer Hashirama got. Every shinobi instinct he had was screaming at him to get up and strike the first blow, not to let himself be vulnerable. Not to let himself get caught by the leader of the enemy clan. But he didn't move. And Hashirama sat down right next to him, close enough that their thighs brushed together. More silence followed and Madara forgot to breathe.

Madara finally looked him in the face. Hashirama smiled. 

Madara knew then that he was absolutely fucked.


	2. Together

"If you'e here to kill me you better just get it over with."

Hashirama quirked an eyebrow at him. That obviously hadn't been the response he had been expecting. His lip twitched, holding back a smile. 

Did he know that Madara was just putting on airs? Could he see right through his rather thinly veiled attempt at a threat? Or was it an ultimatum? Madara found it frustratingly hard to think at that moment.

"Don't you think if I wanted to kill you I would have tried already? Or perhaps I might have tried a few days ago on the battlefield." Hashirama was speaking down to him. It was probably a joke. It still made Madara's heart race. And for once, not in anger.

Madara was silent after that. He was right, Madara never thought he was there to kill him. But what he could have been there for scared him even worse. Maybe he wished Hashirama had been there to finish him off. With the way his heart was fluttering arrhythmically maybe it _would_ end up killing him. 

"...I missed you."

Their heads both jerked towards each other, eyes wide in surprise. They had spoken together, in tandem, the same thing at the same time. A moment of silence came and went and then there was laughter. From both of them. Hashirama's a boisterous cackle, Madara's a nervous chuckle. 

More silence. Madara could feel they were on the precipice of something. He wanted so badly to run. He also wanted so badly to pour his heart out to Hashirama, the clan and his duty be damned. He wasn't going to do either of those things though. He was going to sit in the heavy silence and wait for Hashirama to make the first move. This wouldn't be the first time for this to happen. And it surely wouldn't be the last.

"It's been a while." Hashirama began, his hand twitching where it lay on the river stones of the bank. Madara wondered if Hashirama considered touching his hand. "I'm glad to see you're alright."

"Your father might not say the same thing." Madara sounded cold even to himself. He winced. 

There it was again, his anger overcompensating in place of vulnerability. He hated that he reacted this way, but he couldn't imagine having it any other way. It would have been too much to bare. He didn't want to have to come to terms with his feelings right then and there. Come to terms with what it meant feeling this way for someone you were supposed to hate. 

To Hashirama's eternal credit, he actually laughed. 

"Ha! Perhaps you're right. But lucky for you I'm not my father, nor is he anywhere near here right now." Hashirama stretched his legs out, his toes brushing against the edge of the water. He looked completely at peace. Madara envied him for it. 

"And what would you do? If he were here?"

"Hmm." Hashirama looked down the bank of the river.

"Would you get up? Pretend you didn't know who I was? Or would you attack me? I'm sure your father would be proud."

"What's with the third degree?" Madara felt himself blush.

"...Nothing." He turned his face down, letting his bangs fall in front of his face. Hiding. He felt ashamed for saying such things, even if he felt they were worth asking.  
Hashirama seemed to have moved on quickly though. He didn't look offended, his ability to brush things off to his benefit. One personality trait Madara was severely lacking. 

"You showed up here to today." Hashirama's lips curled up into a smile. "Fate, you think? Or did we just both know?"

"I don't know what you mean."

"You know exactly what I mean. When was the last time you came to this river?"

Madara was silent. It had been years. An age ago it felt like. He didn't want to admit it though. Hashirama was smug when he was right. 

Madara glanced up at him from under his bangs. The sight was breathtaking. The sun shone off Hashirama's hair, bringing out shadows of mahogany, shades of chestnut, highlights in maple. He had tanned since Madara had seen him last. Lines under his eyes hinted at his draining position in life, but his iris' shown in a sewn oak. Everything about him looked warm, solid, and cheery. 

It was one of the most beautiful sights Madara had ever seen.

He found it hard not to stare. He was transfixed, unable to pull his gaze away. Hashirama caught him after what felt like an eternity but couldn't have been more than moments. Madara didn't look away even then, even with a blush creeping up on his cheeks, giving him away. Hashirama looked him over too.

Madara assumed there wasn't much to take in with his own visage. He was slim, sickly pale, and his hair inky and wild. He had many more lines on his face than Hashirama, his nails chewed down to stubs from his nervous habit. His eyes couldn't have held the same life in them as Hashirama's did, they were too dark. The only show of color on him was the blush dusting his cheeks and his lips, his bottom lip bitten down into a rosy pink from his teeth worrying it between. He must have looked a fright.

Hashirama looked at him as if he was the most beautiful thing _he'd_ ever seen.

Madara felt like he was going to cry.

"I missed this." 

Madara could only nod in agreement. Later he would feel the bile rise at the implications of him being a clan traitor. Anxious thoughts of insincerity and himself getting lured into an emotional trap would plague him for days afterwards. Nightmares of Hashirama's face, devoid of any of the warmth it presently held, laughing down at him, mocking. Those would come later, though.

For now, he smiled for the first time in years.

"...Me too."

The wind picked up, blowing leaves over Madara's head. The sudden rustling of the branches made him open his eyes, his hands falling to his side, resting on the bones he had perched on.

A memory.

It had felt more like a dream. 

He shook himself fully awake, landing down on the soft forest floor below with barely a thump. Getting lazy, he thought. Getting nostalgic. It was a dangerous trap to fall in, with the border on fantasy and reality so thin there. Alone in the forest, left only with your thoughts. But... it wasn't a fantasy was it? He had been there on the riverbank that day. It _had_ happened.

Madara sometimes wished it hadn't. 

That was the day he could trace back all the following years to. Had he not had gone to the river that spring afternoon he might never had set in motion the things to come. He had always wondered if he could go back in time and stop himself from going, would he actually go through with it? In hindsight, the benefits surely outweighed the costs. But only for Madara himself. Surely it would have hurt Hashirama in the end, had he not had been there.

It would have been worth it, he thought. Selfish yet again.

His hand brushed against every bark of every tree on his path to the small stream to collect his day's water. The wood was dark and thick, not much sunlight permeating the lower layers of the thick forest. He enjoyed it, enjoyed the dark. Comforting. More so than the bright warm hues he had been used to. 

That was a lie. Who was he kidding? Himself, he thought. Nobody else in the forest here to kid. Madara was a world away from Konoha at this point, weeks away from Hashirama, and he would still deny his own feelings. Half of him found it pathetic. The other half found it endearing. He couldn't ever decide which he agreed with more. Didn't matter much now, he figured.

He could hear the stream before he saw it. He could smell it too, before anything else. The soft bubble of the water flowing down along one of the many hills of the region, connecting somewhere north to one of the many ridges. He had been lucky to find it, digging for his water or squeezing it from the peat ground hadn't seemed very appetizing. His own private river, big enough for one and one alone. Bittersweet. He reached down and filled his canteen. 

His canteen had a large gash in it, gnarled the metal along the side. It had saved his life that day. 

That day.

A month into that spring had turned the land hot, summer fast on its heels. The air was heavy with moisture and vile with the stench of rotting flesh. 

Madara's side had been caught by an enemy blade, torn open the side of his shirt. The sound of metal against metal rang out in his ears. Had his canteen not been hidden against his ribs, the blade would have torn open his side. He had enough time to dick away and counter, his heart pounding in his ribs of his now exposed chest where his shirt had ripped.

The fighting hadn't stopped on that day before the river. He knew it wouldn't have. Tajima had fallen, his neck snapped from the impact of a Senju blast, the boulder that he had taken ripped his skin and almost tore his head off his shoulders. He died instantly. 

Madara had seen the entire thing.

His sharingan pulsed, his eyes throbbing in their sockets. Tears fell from the corners of his eyes, running scarlet tracks down his cheeks where they mixed with blood. He didn't even have the luxury to stop and mourn, the battle still raging on with him caught in the middle. 

Was the money really worth it? Were these feudal lords' petty squabbles worth all this bloodshed? All this agony? Madara's heart ached as he pierced a Senju soldier's gut, the warmth of his insides spilling out over Madara's hand. He was alone now, he realized. He was the last of his family.

But not the last of his clan. 

The Senju fell at his feet. Madara, seconds later, couldn't even remember what he had looked like. He decided it didn't matter. What mattered was not letting sacrifice go in vain. What mattered was pride. What mattered was winning.

Madara had enough of losing.

His chest bulged with the katon that flared from his throat, his lungs filling with flame. His hair blew back as the fire flew out in front of him, sticking to every surface like paint being thrown. It spread from there, lighting ground and sky, person and plant. The air smelled like singed hair and sounded with the screams of his enemies. He stood still and watched the devastation. 

Burning alive, he decided, was the single worst way to die. The fire ate and ate. Hungry for vengeance, satiated with nothing but hatred. It was Madara incarnate. A perfect metaphor for his fury and his ruin. And it terrified him. 

The flames were running forward at a breakneck pace, fanned by the winds behind it. It was taking over the field of battle, everyone ahead caught in its wake. There would be collateral damage. Madara didn't care. Madara wanted it all end, wanted to see it all burn. He wanted nothing left of this place, of ths war, or of these memories.  
With the thick roots that sprang from the ground and encased the fire, it looked like Madara wouldn't even be allowed that. They twisted and encapsulated the blaze, smothering it out before it could take hold of them. They were too dense to catch flame. A dome of writhing roots spread out and choked the fire dead. In minutes the great wildfire had been suffocated, ash and smoke only left. Atop the wooden mound was Hashirama, and all eyes fixated on his point. The fighting had stopped. The singed looked up.

His voice boomed over the battlefield.

He didn't look angry. He looked exhausted. And he spoke to the other drained shinobi. And they listened. He spoke of how exhausted he was, how he had enough of this fighting. He didn't want any more flames, any more hatred, any more war. He didn't want any more of those he called his brothers to die in fury. Skin that should never have melted off, he mourned. On both sides. Those soldiers lives up in a great flame that should have been at home with children, parents, families. And for what? The great point of this ruination for a lord whose face they had never seen. Fighting wars that weren't even theirs, that shouldn't be theirs. Hadn't they too dreamt of peace? Of a tract that wasn't drenched in the blood of their brothers? Of a land where they might raise a family? Of a place they might all call home?

Together?

Hashirama spoke in breadth of his dream. A dream of a village they might create in tandem. A home for all displaced shinobi clans where they could live in peace. Other countries had done it and succeeded, why not them? Why were their graveyards larger than their homesteads now? 

It could be a new start. People were nodding. And listening.

Together.

It would mark an occasion, a precipice that would bring about a new age. An age now longer of fire, but of wood. Of earth. Of home. They could build, together, and create. Create peace. Create a homestead for them all. Weapons were sheathed and signs stopped waving. People were looking up at this man, this leader, with hope. They were all tired too. 

"So please!" His voice was waning from the strain, "Raise your hand not to each other, brothers! But with each other! Lift not the sword, but the hammer! We can change our way of life! We can band together and form anew! A home, built from the ground up, with each other and _for_ each other! Think of it!"

And think of it they did. They dreamt of it too. And it was only in this moment did someone vocalize it, articulating plans and ideas they had all at one point pondered.  
That day the fighting ended. The flame died out. The seeds were sewn.

Madara wished he had been up there with Hashirama, side by side in a show of solidarity for his dream. For their dream. One they had spent countless days in their childhood talking about and planning. 

_Together..._

Clapping started. And grew. Much like a wave, it took over the shinobi below Hashirama. Roars and cries of unification, the likes of which had never been seen before, spread out over the remaining crowd. There were too few of everyone left and they were all much too tired to continue fighting. The idea of a village didn't sound too bad at this point.

Hashirama's roots lowered himself down into the scores of shinobi that had gathered around. They were all talking with him, Senju and Uchiha alike. 

It should have been beautiful. Madara's eyes should have been burning with tears of happiness, tears of relief, tears of joy. But what stung his eyes were tears much less benevolent.

Jealousy, it seemed, burned brighter than any flame. And hurt much much worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i said i was going to update weekly but this one came a little early. I had some extra time on my hands this weekend. 
> 
> I've decided this fic is a little less about a conventional narrative and more of a character/relationship study on these two. It's a little different but I hope you enjoy!


	3. The Raptors

It took a week for Hashirama to realize something was wrong.

Usually Hashirama caught Madara in the mornings walking for their offices. He would call him over, walk with him, chat about the morning. How long they talked would all depend on Madara's mood that morning, which could shift quickly and without warning. Hashirama awoke that morning, freshened up, and headed out for the offices. But he hadn't seen Madara. He even tarried a little, talking with one of the street vendors a little longer than he normally did just in case Madara was running a little late. Still a no show.

Hashirama didn't think much of it. Sometimes Madara took time to himself. Hashirama had come to know that he was a private person, and even though he was a diligent worker and seemed dedicated to their village's causes, he could take a few days on his own. Hashirama never knew what he did. He would ask, but Madara never gave him an answer.

Hashirama arrived at the Hokage offices a little late than normal. He poked his head into Madara's office, but it was dark and empty. He frowned. He guessed it was one of those days where he was a no show. Madara's position in Konoha was an important one though, as the head of the Shinobi forces of Konoha as well as the director of information systems within the village. Essentially, he was Hashirama's right hand man in all matters regarding the village, his confidant, adviser, and co-conspirator. Hashirama hoped he wouldn't be gone long this time. They had a precarious situation with the eastern Water forces that Hashirama wanted to resolve quickly.

Hashirama made his way to his own office, sighing as he saw a table full of new reports that had come in overnight. He never realized how much paperwork went into running a village. He shook his head and took a seat at his desk, tapping his pen on the surface as he started to glance over the documents. There was too much drudgery in the Hokage position, he thought. Hashirama was a man better suited for the streets, talking to villagers face to face, meeting with allies and enemies alike, commanding forces from the front lines. He hated being stuck behind a desk. 

He always knew Madara would have been better for the Hokage position than he. 

When the village's governing system was first being set up, Hashirama had actually been the one to campaign for Madara to be the head of the village. Sitting at a large table with the other heads of the allied clans associated with the new Konoha village, almost every one of them sent him a look of disbelief. Hashirama was confused, looking between the faces sitting around him. He never understood why none of the other clans saw what he saw. Madara was an amazing leader, capable of quickly making difficult decisions and held an air of nobility that would have been perfectly suited and respected for the leader of a village. Hashirama knew that he and Madara held the same beliefs on peace and structure for the village that they held in their youth, but that Madara was just be more successful negotiating and commanding than himself. 

The overall opinion of the summit of clan leaders was firmly of the opposite opinion. They had said they wanted a leader who was more respected by the general populous, one that had better people skills, someone everyone liked and trusted. Trusted, they emphasized. Hashirama winced. He had glanced over in Madara's direction, seated to his left, and had seen his knuckles go white. They wanted someone shown to be incredibly powerful, but also kind, someone who could inspire the people- like he had that day a year and so ago on the battlefield. Someone who had first seeded the idea of a peaceful village into the people's heads. Someone like Hashirama.

Hashirama persisted, but a call for a vote had been decided. He had been the only to vote for Madara. Unanimously, every other leader had voted for Hashirama. 

Madara had opted out of a vote.

Hashirama had tried to be a good leader, he tried to be as personal with as many of the village's people as he could. He was well loved. But he felt himself bumbling and foolish in the eyes of the feudal lords, the other village heads, and the countries' elites. He wished it was him at Madara's side as he made grand speeches and dominated over conversations with other leaders, firm and demanding, but fair. Unable to deny. Hashirama smiled to himself at his desk, propping his chin up with his hand. What a waste, he thought. He would have loved to see that. How sexy.

The day was mostly uneventful, save for the fact that later in the day he was invited down to the grand opening of a new smithy in town. The owner wished for Hashirama to come by and browse his wares, be the first to look through his forge and shop. He had planned on crafting weapons for the village and had been welcomed in with open arms. Hashirama was delighted to go. The man was nice enough, and he had gotten a free engraved kunai set out of the deal.

Hashirama returned home satisfied with the day. The only thing that would have made it better would have been catching up with Madara that morning.

The next day, much the same, Madara was MIA.

After the third day, Hashirama found himself getting a little worried. He had taken to mentioning Madara's absence to Madara's underlings, who all shrugged and had no idea. Many said the same, that he did this every once in a while. He would probably show up tomorrow, or maybe next week, they all assured him. Hashirama had to agree, but deep down he felt something was different. Wrong. It had made him a little crabby and absentminded that day, something Tobirama had scolded him for.

Six days passed before Hashirama stopped by Madara's house personally. 

He rapped his knuckles on his door, pressing close to try and listen inside. He heard no movement, though Madara could be silent when he wanted to be. Hashirama huffed.

"Madara!" He called, a little loudly. He hoped that if nothing else Madara would let him in so he wouldn't cause a scene for the neighbors. "Madara, are you in there?!"

Nothing.

Hashirama waited a few moments before walking around the house himself, trying to see any lights on in any of the windows. It was dark. And it was quiet. He couldn't feel Madara's chakra inside at all. It made him very very worried. 

Hashirama stood in front of the house and tapped his foot, a little unsure of how to continue before one of Madara's neighbours had come out to see the commotion. He was an older Uchiha man that lived alone down the way. He bowed to Hashirama, respectful and happy to see his Hokage.

"Haven't seen him in quite a while." The man nodded to himself, glancing behind Hashirama's shoulder at the building, "Assumed he was out on some business for you."

Hashirama shook his head, a million thoughts racing through his head. 

"...but." the old man started up again, rubbing his chin in thought, "I have been hearing a terrible screeching from his birds out back. They make noise so rarely, and I'd never heard a yelling like this."

"When did you hear them?"

"Oh every day…for the past five days or so. Early in the morning they squawk something fierce! Lucky for me I'm early to rise so I was already awake but near scared me out of my skin while I was making breakfast."

Hashirama thanked the man and made apologies, as he had to go check the grounds of Madara's house. He went to the back of the lot where Madara had an aviary that housed his falcons. As Hashirama got close they began their screeching, the sounds of wings frantic inside the building made Hashirama nervous. He had never handled the large taloned birds before, as it seemed only Madara was allowed to. He cracked the door open just slightly and gasped to himself.

The birds were flapping rapidly, high up on perches in the aviary. The room smelled of filth terribly and was in complete disarray. The falcons' feathers were patchy and unclean. Hashirama figured they hadn't been fed in a while. He shut the door and went to the side cabinet of the aviary to retrieve them some mice. He quickly tossed a handful of mice inside and heard cries almost immediately, followed by chomping. 

He was shocked. This was so unlike Madara. He loved his falcons more than anything else, and took immaculate care of them and their aviary. Even when he left on missions that took more than a day he would give one of his underlings at the offices the job of feeding and cleaning up after them. He had even made Hashirama do it a few times, knowing that the birds terrified him. Leaving them like this, unkempt and unfed, was completely unlike him. It was something he would never do.

Now Hashirama was terrified. 

Without hesitation he broke open the lock to Madara's door and went inside. No lights were on. It was silent. He opened every door, searched every room. Nothing looked displaced, there were no signs of a struggle, things didn't look missing. But there was also no note. Nothing. It was as if Madara had absolutely vanished. He was only relieved for a moment that he had not found Madara's body inside. But now he was almost frantic having found him completely missing.

Hashirama started pacing in his home, hands pulling at his scalp. What was he going to do? Go to Tobirama? No, horrible idea. Tobirama would have been to thrilled to hear Madara was gone. Should he gather a search party? Send out recon to find him? But the neighbor had said Madara had been away at most a week. How far he could have gotten in a week. And knowing Madara, he had made sure nobody had seen him. If Madara didn’t want to be found, he wouldn’t.

What… what if he defected?

Hashirama shook his head quickly. Stupid thought. Madara would never do that. Never. Not in a million years.

Right?

_…Right?_

Hashirama had to lean against the wall, taking a deep breath to calm himself. He was jumping to conclusions, he was too paranoid. This whole situation had him in complete disarray. He never could have anticipated that Madara would just up and leave. And for what reason? He wasn’t sure. All he was sure about was that he had to find him, had to get him back.

Maybe he should go himself. Track him down on his own. He didn’t think there was anybody else in the village that was as adept at sensing Madara’s chakra than he. He could move fast, he would be back before anybody knew he was gone!

With a sigh Hashirama padded through Madara’s house, heading towards his bedroom. He knew he couldn’t just leave. As Hokage it would have been wholly irresponsible and foolish, especially leaving out on his own. He had people that relied on him, hell, a whole _village_ that relied on him. They were still such a new settlement, so much uncertainty was rampant through the people. The only thing stopping most other forces from quickly invading the budding village was his presence, the watchful eye of the God of Shinobi. 

Maybe he would come back? Hashirama stood in the doorway of Madara’s bedroom. His futon had been rolled and packed into the corner of the room, the floor immaculate. It was bare save for a small chest which held his clothes and a small frame sitting atop it, an embroidered Uchiha clan symbol on the cloth inside it. Hashirama had asked about it before, but Madara constantly avoided the subject.

“Did you make this yourself?” Hashirama had pointed at the frame, the small breeze wafting in from the open window blowing his hair to the side. It was a crisp night, outside winter had begun to shift into spring. The lingering chill in the air had Hashirama’s bare skin in goosebumps, the sweat on his back drying and cooling quickly.

Madara had huffed. “Can we not talk about this now?”

Hashirama looked back down at him, his hair haloing around his face. Madara’s hair was wilder than normal, his lips a plump blush from where they had been kissed. Hashirama pushed his bangs away from his face to get a better look at the flush that hung on Madara’s cheeks. His pupils were blown, his chest heaving to catch his breath. He was still mostly clothed.

Hashirama wanted so badly to fix that.

A smirk returned to Hashirama’s face. “Would you rather talk about something else?” His hand ran down Madara’s cheek. He leaned into the touch, his eyes fluttering shut.  
“I’d rather you not talk about anything at all.”

Hashirama chuckled, happy to oblige. He leaned back over Madara, his lips brushing against the hollow of his neck. Madara rumbled a noise, and Hashirama felt it in his throat. It was strained, he was still trying to hold himself back. 

This had become a very recent development in their relationship, the intimacy. They had never fully consummated whatever they had created between the two of them, but they were on the precipice. Years of unresolved feelings, a harbored crush over a decade. It was passionate, desperate almost. Though they had never discussed what exactly it was they were doing. They would sneak away to share heated kisses between meetings and depart with a smile. Hashirama enjoyed it, but he wanted something more. Something more established. As he ran his tongue along the side of Madara’s neck and felt him squirm, he remembered how close to a marriage ceremony their union of clans had been.  
Not a bad idea, Hashirama had thought. The idea made Hashirama elated, and would have sent Tobirama to an early grave. He chuckled again.

Madara tensed, “What’s so funny?”

“I was just admiring how charming you are.”

Madara snorted, but his face betrayed him and grew even redder. Hashirama attached his lips to his collarbone and bit. Madara moaned.

Hashirama’s hands lifted under Madara’s shirt, the tips of his fingers running up his torso slowly, bringing his shirt with them. Madara’s body was hot, fire burning just under the surface. Hashirama was thrilled, this was the most receptive and calm Madara had ever been. He must have felt comfortable being in his own home, their chances of being caught halved. He would have to invite himself over more often.

Hashirama was about to lift Madara’s shirt over his head when they both heard footsteps from the open window. They stopped on a dime, Hashirama’s hands falling to his side. 

Silence.

Suddenly, a knock at the door.

“Madara!” A voice called from the front.

Madara and Hashirama both let out a sigh, half in frustration and half in relief. One of Madara’s underlings, a ninja from the recon team. Work business, in the middle of the night? A hazard of the job, Hashirama lamented. 

They had departed that day, skin still buzzing and a silent tension slowly trying to pull them back together. Hashirama had quietly dressed and left through the window, Madara had been curt with his informant. There was a promise made in mum between them.

They would have to finish this another time.

Hashirama, leaning against the doorway of his bedroom, bemoaned that they hadn’t yet had the chance. And now might not ever. He might never get the chance to tell Madara how he felt, how his heart felt heavy in his chest at just the mention of the other man. It was torture, sweet torture. 

He decided then that he was going to find him. He _had_ to. 

Hashirama's shoulders were tense as he left the house, his gaze hard during his walk back to his office. Anxiety fluttered in the pit of his stomach. So much time had already been wasted as Hashirama had assumed nothing was wrong. Now, a week later, and there was nothing he could immediately do to bring him home. It made him antsy. His brother wouldn't be pleased with him using precious few Konoha resources to track down one rogue shinobi, but his brother be damned, he decided. He would hire trackers if need be. The Inuzuka clan were supposedly fantastic in that venture. He'd have to make a visit to their home, offer something for their help. And he would have to do it under Tobirama's ever diligent nose. It wouldn't be easy, Hashirama thought. But nothing concerning Madara was easy.

It was enough to make him chuckle, for the first time this morning. 

In the meantime, he had to remember to tell one of Madara’s students to stop by every morning and feed Madara's falcons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hashirama's first pov chapter! his memories I decided aren't going to be as detailed as madara's, considering the sharingan can play back memories like a movie, so his little flashback is short!


End file.
